Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue (3 page)

Mrs. Decker gave the young woman a few moments to react, and when she just stood there, gaping, Mrs. Decker said, “Is it this way?” and started for the staircase at the end of the foyer.

The girl scrambled to catch up, and Maeve gave Mrs.
O'Neill another nudge. With a dismayed glance back at Maeve, she obediently followed the other two up the stairs. As she and Mrs. Decker had previously decided, Maeve remained downstairs, prepared to become inconspicuous until she was certain she was unobserved. This required a wait of only a few minutes, during which no other servant came to investigate and the maid who had gone upstairs with the others did not reappear. Mrs. Decker would be keeping her busy, as they'd planned.

When she was satisfied no one would notice, Maeve strolled down the hallway and glanced into each of the rooms. A small parlor to the right was the scene of the murder, according to what Mrs. O'Neill had told her. The room looked remarkably undisturbed except that the carpet had been rolled up and lay like a low barrier in front of the doorway. Maeve imagined it was bloodstained, and the servants hadn't wanted to look at it.

A long dining room lay to the left. Except for the rolled carpet, both rooms were well furnished, and everything in them was obviously brand-new if not of the very best quality. Beyond the parlor, behind a closed door, was what must have been Mr. Pollock's office or study. Judging from the lingering scent of tobacco smoke, no ladies would have felt welcome here. With another glance up and down the hallway to make sure no one was watching, Maeve stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Only then did she realize she still held the carpetbag. Muttering an imprecation at her carelessness, she set it down and hoped her companions didn't send the maid back down for it before she'd finished exploring this room.

A walnut desk sat against one wall. Pollock was either very neat or he didn't really do any work at this desk. The top was bare except for an inkwell and a few knickknacks,
and it had been polished to a shine. She checked the drawers but found nothing of interest there either. If Pollock kept money in the house, he probably had a more secure location than an unlocked desk. Two ugly landscape paintings hung on the walls, but neither concealed a wall safe. Pollock had no bookshelves to conceal hidden passages the way they did in novels, and the only other furnishings in the room were two comfortable-looking leather armchairs and the table between them.

Maeve sat down in one of the chairs and looked around the room again, wondering what she'd missed. That's when she noticed the table between the two chairs was rather oddly sized. The cube-shaped object seemed a bit too short for the job and, beneath a collection of singularly ugly knickknacks, was completely covered with what looked like a large silk scarf. The only reason you hid something with a scarf was because you didn't want anyone to see how old and battered it was, but everything else in this house was bright and shiny and new.

Maeve lifted the scarf and found a squat and ugly but very sturdy-looking safe.

Maeve sighed. Gino had been right about Pollock having a safe. He'd been concerned she wouldn't be able to open it, of course, and that was a legitimate concern. He probably couldn't imagine someone like herself being able to crack a safe either. That would, of course, be a valuable skill to have, especially at this particular moment. Her grandfather had taught her many things, but not that, unfortunately. He had, however, taught her another skill that might serve her even better. This time when she searched Pollock's desk, she checked his nearly blank appointment diary more carefully and found the series of numbers he'd written at the bottom of the very last page in pencil.

As she had hoped, they opened the safe on the second try—Pollock had been clever enough to list the numbers backward in case someone found them and guessed what they were. The safe opened with a satisfying click when she lifted the lever. She'd hoped to find a few hundred dollars inside that Mrs. O'Neill could use for a lawyer, but what she did find sent her rearing back with a most unladylike yelp.

P
olice Headquarters was unusually quiet when Gino arrived that morning. Of course, he was early for his shift because he wanted to see what he could find out about the Pollock murder, and early morning was that calm period of the day when the drunks from the night before were safely locked up and sleeping it off and the evildoers of the daylight hours hadn't gotten started yet.

The desk sergeant gave him a knowing grin, obviously remembering the to-do about Maeve's phone message the day before. “So, when's the wedding?”

“Nothing so drastic,” Gino said, grinning back. “She just missed me.”

“Is she that girl what works for Mrs. Brandt?”

Everyone at Headquarters knew Mrs. Brandt. “She's Mrs. Malloy now,” Gino reminded him. “And yes, Miss Smith works for her.”

“Ah yes, Mrs. Malloy,” the sergeant mused. “That lucky bastard Malloy.”

Gino wasn't sure if the sergeant thought Malloy was lucky because of his sudden wealth or his marriage to Mrs. Brandt, but he said, “I don't know about luck. After what happened to that Pollock fellow yesterday, marriage isn't looking too good to me.”

From his high desk the sergeant nodded at Gino. “You're right. Poor fellow. Although who's to say he didn't deserve it, eh?”

“Yeah, a woman doesn't usually bash her husband on the head for no reason. Did you hear anything about him?”

The sergeant shrugged. “Nothing special, but he's a bouncer. All them fellas is shady, you ask me.”

“So he had money, did he?”
Bouncer
was a derogatory term for the newly rich who hadn't yet earned a place in society.

“He lived in one of them new houses up in Harlem. They don't come cheap, although why anybody'd want to live way out in the country like that, I don't know.”

“It's pretty far, but it's not farmland anymore.”

“I guess not, if bouncers are building houses there,” the sergeant agreed.

“Did you hear what Pollock did for a living?”

The sergeant frowned down at Gino. “You're awful interested in this fellow.”

Gino tried a shrug. “Just curious, I guess.”

But the old sergeant wasn't fooled. “You ain't a detective, boy. Don't forget that. Nobody'll thank you for interfering in what ain't your business, and Malloy ain't here no more to cover for you.”

“That's good advice,” Gino said, giving the old sergeant a mock salute.

He was walking away, already trying to figure out how to
be more subtle in his inquiries the next time, when the sergeant called, “But if you want to find out more about Pollock, ask Broghan. His cousin walks the beat up there, and he was the first one in the house.”

“Broghan, huh? I think he might still be mad at me about that case with the missing women.”

The sergeant gave a bark of laughter. “Oh yeah, that was clever, but it's Malloy he's mad at. Besides, he's an Irishman. If you'll listen to him, he'll talk to you, mad or not.”

“Thanks, Sarge.”

Gino was whistling as he went to report for duty. Broghan wouldn't be in this early, but he'd be able to catch him later at his favorite bar.

*   *   *

M
aeve was sitting on the bench in the foyer, just where they'd left her and looking completely innocent, when Mrs. O'Neill and Mrs. Decker came back downstairs. The maid trailed behind them carrying a cheap suitcase that they'd apparently found upstairs. Thank heaven they hadn't needed the carpetbag, which sat at her feet.

“I hope you weren't bored waiting for us,” Mrs. Decker said with a questioning look in her eye.

“Oh no, not at all. Did you get everything you needed for Mrs. Pollock?”

“Yes, and we also decided that we'll have my maid come back tomorrow and pack up all of Mrs. Pollock's things and take them to her mother's house. Under the circumstances, Mrs. Pollock will want to close up the house, I'm sure.”

She didn't have to mention that with Pollock dead and Una in jail, there'd be no one to pay the servants and the other expenses of running a household.

“Oh, you might want to wait a week or two before doing
that,” Maeve said. “Mrs. Pollock will probably be released, and she'll want to come home.”

“She'll want to come home to
me
, I'm sure,” her mother said. “She won't want to come back here, after what happened.”

“But what'll become of us?” the maid asked. “There's nobody to write us a reference.” Maeve had learned a lot about servants from Mrs. Decker, and she knew they changed employers frequently. The Pollocks' servants wouldn't have been with them long, so they'd certainly feel no loyalty to Una.

“I'll write all of you a reference, if it comes to that,” Mrs. Decker said. “But don't go running off just yet. We'll see you're taken care of. And let me know if you need anything.” She gave the girl her calling card. “Are we ready to go?”

Maeve said they were, so they filed out to the sidewalk, where the Decker carriage still waited at the curb. The driver hurried to assist the ladies inside, taking the carpetbag from Maeve and setting it by her feet at her instruction. He strapped the other suitcase to the back and then scrambled up to his perch after receiving instructions to deliver Mrs. O'Neill to the city jail first.

As soon as they were safely away from the house, Mrs. Decker said, “I assume your search was successful, Maeve.”

“Yes, it was,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a wad of bills. “Mrs. O'Neill, this should be enough to hire the attorney whose name I gave you and also to pay your daughter's bail, if he can arrange it.”

Mrs. O'Neill stared at the money as if afraid it would bite her. “How much is there?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

Mrs. O'Neill made a strangled sound. She'd certainly never seen so much money all at once, which would be more than a year's salary for an average person. “But I can't—”

“Of course you can,” Maeve said. “It's your daughter's money, after all. You should use it to help her.”

“I . . . What should I do with it?”

“Put it in your purse,” Mrs. Decker suggested, but Mrs. O'Neill's horrified reaction clearly showed how dangerous she considered that idea.

“Put a couple hundred in your purse to pay the attorney,” Maeve said.

“He'll want that much?” she squeaked.

“No, but you want him to see you've got more than what he asks for so he'll be willing to take the case. You can put the rest of it down in your corset, so you won't have to worry about losing it. I'll show you.”

By the time Maeve had helped her hide the rest of the money, Mrs. O'Neill looked a little less terrified.

“What a good idea,” Mrs. Decker said in wonder, having watched the whole thing with admiration. “Where did you learn that?”

Maeve didn't even consider answering truthfully. “I thought of it just now. It's clever, isn't it?” She turned back to Mrs. O'Neill. “The attorney's office is across the street from the jail, so go straight there after you take Una her things.”

“She still wouldn't talk to me this morning. I tried everything I knew, but she wouldn't speak. I think whoever killed Mr. Pollock may have injured her, too, but how would we know, when she won't say anything?”

Maeve had no reply for that, but Mrs. Decker said, “Maybe she'll speak with her attorney. Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger about something so serious.”

Mrs. O'Neill looked doubtful, but she wasn't going to disagree with someone like Mrs. Decker.

They rode the rest of the way in uneasy silence, in spite of Mrs. Decker's efforts to make small talk.

When they'd dropped Mrs. O'Neill at the jail, Mrs. Decker turned to Maeve expectantly. “All right, you obviously found some money, but what else did you find?”

“What makes you think I found anything else?” Maeve asked with a grin.

Mrs. Decker pointed at the carpetbag sitting on the floor of the carriage. “That bag is full of something, and you wanted to keep it close.”

“I was so glad you didn't need it for Una's clothes.” Maeve leaned over and opened it to reveal the contents.

Mrs. Decker clapped a hand to her heart. “Good heavens! How much is there?”

Maeve glanced at the stacks of cash. “I didn't take the time to count it, but it's thousands of dollars.”

“That's why you said we didn't need to close up the house. Mrs. O'Neill thought Pollock was rich, but I'm not sure I really believed it before.”

“I don't believe it now.”

Mrs. Decker looked meaningfully at the carpetbag. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Pollock had a lot of money, but rich people keep their money in banks.”

“Maybe Pollock didn't trust banks.”

“I guess that's possible, but thieves don't trust banks either.”

“You think Pollock was a thief?”

“I have no idea, but he was a young man, from what Mrs. O'Neill told me, and she didn't seem to know exactly what he did for a living, and he's got thousands of dollars in a safe in his house. And”—she rummaged in the carpetbag and pulled out a book—“I also found this.”

“What is it?”

“It's a ledger of some kind.” Maeve opened it and showed her. “See, there's names and amounts of money.”

“What does it mean?”

“I'm guessing it means these people gave him money, and he's keeping track of it in this ledger.”

“Why would they have given him money?”

Maeve managed not to sigh. Mrs. Decker was hopelessly naïve, and Maeve didn't want her to know how much she knew about cheating people. “Probably some business thing, but we don't know enough right now to even make a guess.”

“Maybe Mr. Decker could figure it out if he saw the ledger.”

“Mr. Decker?” Maeve echoed in alarm. The last thing she wanted was to face him if he found out she'd involved his wife in all this.

“He's really not as terrifying as you seem to think, my dear,” Mrs. Decker assured her. “We can't let him know that I helped you today, of course. You know how he worries about me. But you can just bring the ledger over to our house this evening and ask him for his advice. You can tell him everything that's happened except that I went with you to the Pollock house.”

Maeve had to agree that this sounded like a good plan. “Should I bring the money, too?”

“Heavens, no. Doesn't Mr. Malloy have a safe?”

“Yes, he does.”

“I thought Sarah told me he did. Do you know the combination?”

“Of course. Mr. Malloy left money for us to spend while they're on their honeymoon.”

“Then put this money in the safe, too. Count it first, though. Mr. Decker will want to know how much you found. Was there anything else in the safe?”

“No, just the ledger and the money. I searched Pollock's desk, but I didn't find anything important in it except the combination to the safe.”

“How odd that he would keep it so close.”

“Lots of people write down the combination and keep it in a safe place in case they forget it.”

“It doesn't sound like his desk was a very safe place if you found it so easily.”

“Lots of people aren't very smart.”

“So it seems,” Mrs. Decker agreed with a grin.

Maeve was glad Mrs. Decker didn't think to ask her how she knew all this.

When they arrived at the Malloy house, Mrs. Decker came in for a short visit with Catherine, who had been visiting Mrs. Ellsworth again for a few hours while Maeve did her detective work. She couldn't stay long, though, because she had to be home when Mr. Decker arrived. She didn't want to have to lie about where she'd been this afternoon.

Maeve and Catherine started supper, and when Mrs. Malloy brought Brian home from school, they all ate together. Mrs. Decker had warned her that they ate supper late, so she shouldn't come until around eight o'clock, which left a long time for Maeve to wait. Luckily, Gino Donatelli arrived shortly after they'd finished eating. He also had to spend a little time with the children before Maeve could steal him away. Luckily, Mrs. Malloy was there to get them ready for bed while Maeve took him to the kitchen for a piece of cake.

“Did you have any luck at Pollock's house today?” he asked as she sliced the cake.

“You might say that. I was able to give Mrs. O'Neill five hundred dollars to hire a lawyer and pay Una's bail, if the lawyer can get it set.”

He looked suitably impressed. “That's a lot of money. Where did you find it?”

She set the cake down in front of him. “In his safe.”

“I was right about that, then.” Men just loved being right, and Gino was no exception.

“Yes, you were,” she said sweetly, more than happy to acknowledge it. She sat down at the table opposite him.

He started to take a bite, but stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth. “If it was in a safe, how did you get it out?”

She continued to smile sweetly.

He frowned. “You didn't . . . You don't know how to crack a safe, do you?”

How nice that he thought she might actually be able to do that. And how nice to see his various horrified reactions to that thought. “Of course not. He'd written the combination down, and I found it.”

“Where?”

“In his appointment diary. In his desk. Really, he wasn't very good at this at all.”

“Good at what?”

“Never mind. So were you able to find out anything about Pollock?”

He hesitated, as if he wanted to ask her something else, but then he sighed and said, “Not a lot about Pollock, but I found out more about the murder. Broghan's cousin was the first one in the house.”

“Broghan? Mr. Malloy's friend?”

Gino grinned at that. “They aren't exactly friends.”